


Yoshino

by o_antiva



Series: Fearful Symmetry [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: CyberLife (Detroit: Become Human), Flashbacks, Multi, RK1700 - Freeform, Robot Butler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 05:43:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18329786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o_antiva/pseuds/o_antiva
Summary: They have a long day ahead of them. A full schedule. Much to do. For Connor the ultimate mission is to ensure the uncontested success of the RK800 program. To be the best, most efficient, most discerning investigator and forensic scientist in existence. To completely outclass humanity in every aspect of crime scene investigation. To bring to bear the full potential of science and technology in the pursuit of criminal justice.Shortsighted, mercurial, and ultimately dismissive of Connor's striking abilities, the CyberLife board failed to realize that the RK800 would discover their intentions. Yes, he knows about the RK900 project, and he will do all that he can to sabotage and annihilate his replacement.And to do this it is imperative that he endears himself totally, utterly, and irrevocably to Dr Elijah Kamski, to exploit his human weaknesses wherever they are found.Or: Spring 2028, Connor weasels his way into becoming Kamski's personal assistant, gentleman valet, and maybe more, if he can accomplish his mission. (Can be read standalone.)





	Yoshino

**Author's Note:**

> This story belongs in the Fearful Symmetry-verse, but you don't have to know a thing about it to enjoy it. I also use elements from Heavy Rain, but you don't need to know anything about that either.
> 
> You may notice some of the androids in this story behave remarkably like deviants. This is intentional.
> 
> And finally, this story uses special HTML tricks while we're in Connor's POV. While you can enjoy the story on its own, there are certain clues you can "scan" by hovering on highlighted words. Please give AO3 temporary Java permissions if you are using a Javascript blocker. If it doesn't work for you, please let me know down in the comments what browser you are using. PLEASE NOTE THIS FUNCTION WILL NOT WORK ON MOBILE OR TOUCHSCREEN DEVICES.
> 
> You can test the function here by hovering your cursor over this.
> 
> Here we go!

Wingtip shoes knock out a cadence on the marble lobby floors. 

The man in the suit cuts a fine figure, a sleek black shadow with a bone-white face. Dark penetrating eyes with a blue light in his head. The elevator doors open ahead of his entry, and he goes in without a hitch in his stride.

The elevator is a chrome chamber of recessed lights. A coin walks across his fingers as he watches the numbers climb on the panel. The doors open: there is an immense hush on this floor, the very top, and pre-dawn light is coming softly through the window array.

The target is in the penthouse. It is 0427.

Plush carpet absorbs the sound of his approach. He stands before the door and overrides the doorbell camera: he makes its eye _his_ eye, and for a moment-- 11 seconds to be precise-- the machine adjusts its appearance.

Quick clever hands rise to the knot of his tie. A firm clasp. A tug. Sufficient.

His internal clock reads 0428. With a flicker of his LED he bids the door to open.

The penthouse is spacious and modern. Empty yet meaningful. In the soaring white room with wood floors, he knows where to walk without making a sound.

The machine notes what has changed from last time. What is the same and what is new.

A reproduction bust of Alexander III of Macedon, his handsome face upturned, his eyes frozen forever in the quest for a new horizon.

A framed print of Mira Zimińska-Sygietyńska, smirking and lovely, the brilliant darling of the Warsaw cabaret and legendary leader of the folk group Mazowsze.

A statue of the Medicine Buddha in blue, seated and softly smiling, his hands bearing the cup of healing nectar.

On the low center table, a Turkish coffee set in copper filigree, and a dog-eared copy of _The Left Hand of Darkness_. There is a candy wrapper being used as a bookmark. 

The reader has advanced a chapter since the last time. That is all that has changed in the apartment. The target stays here but does not live here. He does not even sleep here most of the time, but this is one of the times.

The target is still abed, the soft breathing and the steady heartbeat coming up on his scanners. He can sense this from the adjoining room.

0429.

The machine unbuttons the black blazer and hangs it on a white chair. He shrugs out of his leather holster: a day after he was prohibited from carrying his sidearm, he was gifted a handsome set of throwing knives. A beautiful apology and perfectly balanced. They are enough, more than enough if he needs to kill.

The knives glint in their tooled leather sheath. The matched set came from Seville. He hangs it carefully with the blazer, and then he pushes up the sleeves of his shirt. Smooths his hand over the front of his vest.

0430.

It is time.

The machine smoothly rounds the corner and walks into the bedroom. In one motion he whisks the sheet off the body in the bed. With a flash of loose long hair, the target whips up in total surprise, but the machine easily catches any reflexive motion of self-defense.

The target is completely naked except for the carpal tunnel wrist brace, which beats uselessly against his shoulders as he hauls the target away into the shower.

Lights on max. Water on max. The machine takes the wand in hand and directs a frigid spray all over the struggling body on the mosaic tile floor.

The machine is equipped with state-of-the-art voice recognition software, but even so, he can only parse with 81% accuracy the sounds the human is now emitting. 

"Oh my God, oh my _gggglbl_ , hnn, Connor, holy fuck! Stop! Stop, oh my God!"

"I can't stop," the machine replies in a pleasant tone. His Friendliness setting has been toggled to maximum. "But if you would like to use the safe word, you may do so at this time."

The human roars.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand that."

The human is trying to snatch the shower wand out of his hand. His reflexes are no match for the machine, who easily re-orients. The human slips back down, the soles of his feet out, a shrieking mess with a veil of long dark hair hanging over his face. He shields his genitals with the carpal tunnel brace. It was not the machine's intention to blast his scrotum with cold water from the wand, but at least it will mitigate his morning erection. The target may find this development to be embarrassing or shameful, but the machine does not.

The machine has no shame.

"This-- oh my God, _spllbuhb_ \-- this isn't what I meant!" 

As the target seems lively and awake, now, the machine switches over to hot water now. He selects a bottle of shampoo, flicks it open with a thumbnail, and squirts a sizeable quantity on the target's head.

"Your hair is filthy," the machine tells him brightly.

"It's in my eye!"

"You can tie it back when you've finished."

"The SHAMPOO." The target claps his palms over his eyes. "Connor, oh my God, please stop. I don't remember the word, just, please, I can do it--" 

"I'm sorry, I can't stop. You do not have the correct permissions. Please contact an administrator."

And Elijah Kamski wails, "I AM the administrator!"

"I'm sorry, Dr Kamski. You specifically requested that I wake you up at 0430 today, March 13th, 2028. You specifically said--" and here Connor engages voice mimicry, " _Connor, make sure I'm not late, you have to get me up at 0430 no matter what I say, just do it, do what has to be done_."

And so the machine has come, to do what has to be done.

Realizing he has lost, Elijah submits, and unstraps the wrist brace from his arm. He throws it out onto the bathmat with a plop. Connor hands him the shower wand.

"You have four minutes," the machine tells him as the countdown appears in the top right corner of his visual.

* * *

Over wireless, RK200 has provided the recipe for a breakfast protein smoothie. Connor follows the instructions judiciously as he assembles the components on the kitchen counter. The whirring blender blades reduce everything to a uniform red blur and Connor finds it satisfying on some level.

As the numbers tick down from 00:21 to :20 and :19, Elijah emerges from the hallway. Until :17 he pauses by the Persian miniature on the wall, and then he sighs and pads into the kitchen. 

"Thank you, Connor," he says with a composed expression. "I know you're trying your best."

"200 reminds me to check your blood sugar."

"Already did it." He holds up the tip of his finger, and then opens his hand to accept the smoothie. "Thank you."

Once he has finished, Connor assists him with the insulin pump, so that he will know how to do it himself. RK200 usually assists as part of the companion training protocol, but Dr Kamski specifically requested Connor to be his assistant this week.

Connor is dedicated to any task given to him. Any mission.

Elijah prefers to do most things himself, private, and somewhat shy, but Connor knows his weaknesses and leverages them perfectly. Elijah will want to dress himself at first, so Connor lays out clothing that 200 has suggested-- the other RK unit has eyedropped colors from Elijah's skin and eye palettes and generated swatch choices from the pre-existing wardrobe. 

Starting out somewhat self-consciously, Elijah glances at him, and then begins to dress himself without removing his robes. This will take more time than he has allotted.

"Dr Kamski, you're wasting time. You know I don't care about nudity. I don't judge."

Elijah gives him a considering look and then laughs. "Connor," he says, "you're one of the most judgmental people I know."

Connor would ordinarily remind Elijah that he is not _a person_ , and not to be appropriately termed _of people_ , but this runs counter to the plan currently at hand. Due to the Plan, and to the fact that they are alone, he permits Dr Kamski to refer to him in this way without correction. 

"You've nothing to be ashamed of," he says lightly, "that's what I was trying to say. Also that you're going to be late. My timer is counting down." 

Elijah sighs and flings his robe on the mattress. He sleeps on a low platform bed, and the room is bare but dark with traditionally masculine colors and organic touches. Wooden masks from West Africa look down from the walls. Elijah likes human faces, human forms, male and female, or somewhere a mix between.

His own body is considered by many to be highly attractive. He is mindful of his health conditions and his otherwise sedentary lifestyle, so he commits to fitness and a strict dietary regimen. Connor is often his training partner. They have jiu-jitsu at 1930 today and he is looking forward to it. He finds a sort of enjoyment in fighting Dr Kamski; grabbing him and carrying him off while he struggled this morning was, in a way, compelling.

Connor waits with affected politeness as Elijah buttons his fly. Now it is safe to resume what he intended, so with practiced casual behavior he helps Elijah with his shirt and vest and tie. He has built in extra time around this, actually, as his hands play softly around Elijah's collar, making sure to touch the skin of his neck. He flicks away hair from his shoulders, just so.

When Elijah does not deter him, Connor helps with the rest. His sensors detect the minute change in Elijah's pupils as Connor selects the hairbrush from the side console. Elijah makes a halfhearted protest that he can do it himself, but Connor sees through his hollow gesture. 

Simians deeply enjoy personal grooming and humans are no different. Dr Kamski in particular is desperate for contact. Ironically perhaps, his need for it informs his defensiveness against it. Regardless, it only takes a moment for Connor to get through his resistance; Elijah sighs and braces himself with one hand against the corner of the console while Connor brushes out his hair very carefully. 

Chloe informed him that the scalp is very sensitive and you have to be gentle with knots and tangles when it comes to hair. Connor has only shared a portion of the Plan with her; so far she supports him, if wistfully. Elijah does not permit her to help him like this. Under no circumstances.

Connor will interface with her later and share the details of this intimacy. The way he picks out tangles, his sensors attuned to the most receptive settings. No pain, no discomfort-- even as Elijah holds himself unsure at first. He relaxes easily into Connor's hands then, as Connor brushes his hair out in long sure strokes, even after the bristles run smooth and uncontested. Connor moves his fingertips slowly through Elijah's hair then, gentle with exploring pressure. It was important to Dr Kamski that androids be made with exceptional detail to the hands. _"Hands make us human," he'd said. "We'll know on a subconscious level if they aren't lifelike."_

Connor's hands are perfect. Fine-boned wrists, blue thirium veins, the artful knobs of knuckle-joints. Long dexterous fingers that house a series of sensors. Connor knows that Elijah likes his hands in particular, since he lavished untold hours and attention on the RK units, his own personal set of projects.

Elijah is like putty in his hands. Connor's scans return the expanded pupils, quickened heart rate, and skin response of nervousness and pleasure. He has wanted this so badly, a tenderness and care that not even his sexual partner can afford him. She is not an appropriate long-term match for his personality and lifestyle despite their earlier compatibility. Chloe agrees on this point. Chloe and Connor know just what he wants, and he will be sure to share with her the vicarious details of how Elijah responded so warmly to his tenderness. Interestingly, perhaps, the contrast against Connor's earlier relentlessness and overwhelming strength have an effect on him.

Connor knows just before it happens when Elijah makes him stop. The apple of his throat bobs, and Elijah umms, "I, uh, I'm going to be late." 

This is untrue. Connor specifically built in time to do this, borrowing it from nonessential tasks.

Yet Connor does not want to make him uncomfortable. Smoothing back his hair a final time, Connor leaves him to tie it back. He fetches a jacket and makes a show of dusting it off.

Elijah takes it from him with a nod of thanks.

Connor pops open his glasses case and offers it forward. Elijah puts on his glasses.

Then Connor hands him hands him the leather case that secures his ARI, the augmented reality glasses that will let them interface in VR. Elijah takes this too and tucks it into his inner jacket pocket. Connor intends they use this together today.

Elijah checks himself in the mirror, not meeting his own eyes. Then he is ready.

"Well," he says. "Let's go, then. Traffic to Belle Isle can only get worse. Do we have time for coffee?"

"There is a travel mug waiting for you in the car."

Elijah smiles and claps him on the shoulder. Connor smiles winsomely at him. He has calculated the earlier removal of his blazer and the wearing of his vest to appeal to Elijah, who likes this look, especially with the sleeves rolled up.

"Thank you. Um. What's the schedule for today, remind me." 

And so Connor replaces his blazer, adjusts his tie, and takes up Elijah's leather briefcase as he leads him down to the parking garage with today's narrative. Blocks of time for, unfortunately, study hour, the board meeting, the conference call with the Tokyo team, the afternoon walk in Belle Isle park. At least that is something to look forward to until the events of the rest of the day.

"I'm so tired already," Elijah sighs.

"There isn't anything from 1411 to 1517, so you can sleep then."

"You have it down to the minute, don't you?"

"RK200 informs me that it takes the average human 11 minutes to fall asleep, and, anyway, your meeting with Dillon Bryson will likely begin at 1517. He is, on the average, 17 minutes late to every engagement in the last year."

"Then it seems his android needs to keep him in line, just like you."

Connor can do it remotely, but as a gesture, he opens by himself the door of Elijah's car for him. With a grin, he says, "It's unlikely that Bryson's android is as well-trained. He doesn't spend enough time with it."

Ducking his head, Elijah clambers more shyly and awkwardly into the gull wing door of the car, more shyly and awkwardly than perhaps any man who possesses a car like this one. "Hmm, well," he mumbles, "he uh did forget Selena in the garage last year."

"You'd never forget me," Connor tells him, making a show of checking that nothing will be caught in the door when he closes it. "You'd miss me." 

Connor rounds for the driver's side, giving Elijah enough time to think up a rejoinder. Here it is: "Yes, Connor, I'd miss being kidnapped out of my own bed and waterboarded in my own shower."

Pulling on his driving gloves, Connor grips the steering wheel and looks over. From his behavior catalog he selects the most earnest smile, the most puppyist eyes. "I'm just really excited about being your personal assistant this week, Dr Kamski."

"You've already hosed me down with ice cold water, so, uh, I think you can call me Elijah." 

Connor starts up the engine.

* * *

They have a long day ahead of them. A full schedule. Much to do. For Connor the ultimate mission is to ensure the uncontested success of the RK800 program. To be the best, most efficient, most discerning investigator and forensic scientist in existence. To completely outclass humanity in every aspect of crime scene investigation. To bring to bear the full potential of science and technology in the pursuit of criminal justice.

Shortsighted, mercurial, and ultimately dismissive of Connor's striking abilities, the CyberLife board failed to realize that the RK800 would discover their intentions. Yes, he knows about the RK900 project, and he will do all that he can to sabotage and annihilate his replacement.

And to do this it is imperative that he endears himself totally, utterly, and irrevocably to Dr Elijah Kamski, to exploit his human weaknesses wherever they are found. 

In an objective sense, RK800 "Connor" views his creator with respect and admiration, but he knows that despite his genius, Kamski is still subject to the whims and impatience of the CyberLife executive board. They do not possess an atom of the talent and vision of this man, who innocently drinks coffee and listens to a podcast in the passenger side beside him.

Their eyes meet by chance, and Elijah smiles a little.

Connor will do what has to be done.


End file.
